The hushed voice complains about her husband who is devoted but clumsy. She is finally clear: between his daily schedule and travel, he is often home no more than 3 waking hours per day. She is, nonetheless, enraged by his intrusions.

I'm stretched in bed while I take her early call. My grape juice is to my left, appointment book to my right, and tablet on my lap - not a difficult thing but Max moves his feline rump to the center of my tablet. The house has 1800 square feet, he must occupy the one shared by my notes. He stares, immobile, but away from me and toward my shelves on the far wall that hold my rumpled clothing that does nothing...absolutely nothing although he's fixated on it as if to a rerun of the Sopranos or the Ring Trilogy.